


Hand in the Cookie Jar

by digitalduckie



Series: Falloutverse: The Man in Black [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Needles, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14925444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalduckie/pseuds/digitalduckie
Summary: Gage has tracked down the cap thief and Royce calls an assembly to address the issue.





	Hand in the Cookie Jar

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not exactly posting in chronological order though I will rearrange stories in the series to be in the correct order. This one occurs between Guilty Pleasure and Junkyard.
> 
> Big thanks to RadiationGroove for being my beta!

Upon declaring himself Overboss and after acquainting himself with a map of the parks, Royce spent some time having tête a têtes with the leaders of each of the three raider gangs that fell under his command. By appearances alone, he didn't hold much hope for the Pack and their “alpha," Mason. However, their meeting went well and Royce left with the confidence that so long as Mason felt his gang was reaping the rewards promised to them, they would remain loyal and of great use.

So it was tested when Royce called for a park-wide assembly at the Bradberton Amphitheater, the otherwise base of operations for the Pack. It was one of the only locations wherein the entirety of the gangs could fit and have their attention focused. Though Royce had considered how the backdrop of the Gauntlet’s arena would serve as a relevant reminder of who he was and what he was capable of. Still, Mason's willingness to share his space for the boss's needs was welcome proof of his loyalty.

Like children, however, many of the raiders shot each other dirty looks and obscene gestures as the different gangs came into uncomfortably close quarters with each other. Most squabbles were quelled by select Pack members serving as security of sorts. Royce was grateful he could focus on his own tasks, making sure the stage was set properly and that everything would go without a hitch. When he was certain that he had everything he needed, he watched the remaining members of his park trickling in as the time ticked ever closer to the five o'clock mark. He gave a nod to the Pack members manning the large wooden gate that served as the doors to the theater and with a groan, they shut the occupants in. Anyone left outside would be dealt with separately. 

“Well, then, let's get started, shall we?” Royce spoke loudly, hands clasped together behind his back. With a broad smile on his face, he waited for the chatter to subside.

“First and foremost I want to thank Mason and his animals for allowing us to use the Amphitheater.” He gave a gesture to the Pack leader who waved charmingly to the applause primarily from his own gang. “And I also extend my gratitude to all of you who showed up as directed.”

Notably Nisha was missing, though there _were_ Disciples present. He spotted Savoy looking put out in the upper corner of the stands, no doubt sent as her eyes and ears; perhaps in punishment for some unrelated failure or wrong doing.

“You see, this park takes a lot of manpower to run. And I mean man as in humanity, not the gender, so that includes those of you identifying otherwise. Without all of you, this would just be another dim trading hub scrounging in the dirt and starving as it remained hidden and virtually unheard of behind the Commonwealth mountains.”

Truly, without the raider gangs present, without the clear potential of the parks, Royce would have taken his caps and left. He may not like them on a person-by-person basis, but he had to admit to himself that he stumbled upon a greater treasure than he had been searching for when he had left the Capital.

“So when I have to call everyone together like this, I’m not exactly pleased. Because it means something has gone wrong.” The broad smile faded from his face, sincerely somber as he turned his attention to Gage joining him at his side.

“Whenever you’re ready, Boss.”

“I don’t wish to drag this on any longer than it needs to. Go ahead and bring our guest out.” Royce shook a cigarette free from the pack he kept in his pocket as Gage exited the stage. After his first exhale, he addressed his audience once again.

“Yes, something has gone wrong.” His voice carried out. “However, I did not call you all here to put a damper on your evening. Quite the contrary;his will be a spectacular show.”

Returning from backstage, Gage led two Pack members, each one grasping a pole attached to a collar around the neck of a Disciple. They jerked him around, a mock game of tug-o-war causing him to stumble on a path toward a chair set up front and center on the stage. Royce watched long enough to make sure they had the raider under control, a pleased smile spreading across his face.

“As many of you know, we have recently started a campaign to uncap every bottle of wretched soda in this park. We can’t make any money if we don’t have the funds to invest and this initiative will net us our initial investment. I trust you’re all following me so far. There was an adage prewar: ‘You have to spend money to make money.’ And while I don’t intend to spend all of our caps, I do need all of those funds to remain available for various needs.”

The captive raider was forcibly sat in the chair, his body and arms strapped to it so that, at best, he could knock himself over and flounder about on the floor of the stage. Royce took a breath as the Disciple strung together a series of colorful words directed at everyone and no one at once. He was clearly panicked with guilt and Royce gave Gage an approving nod, a job well done on tracking down the varmint by the ordered hour.

“Obviously,” Royce began to pace from one side of the stage to the other, “we cannot amass a sufficient treasury if there are those who think that they can help themselves to it. If there are those who withhold, and even remove, from inventory, the bottles of soda that all of you have been so diligent in collecting toward the cause.”

He stopped as he arrived again at the Disciple’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder and eliciting a renewed yet futile struggle. “I think we’re all in agreement that that constitutes theft, correct?” Royce made sure to check in with Savoy. While some of the raiders had begun to fidget, fingering their knives and murmuring to each other, Savoy looked utterly bored. Undoubtedly each of the groups had their own ‘don’t get caught’ policies in regards to activities that would otherwise jeopardize the truce between the gangs, but the Disciples explicitly had one. Mentioning it was as much a threat to other raiders as it was a reminder to Royce, Gage, and any other management type that they were Disciples before they were Nuka World. Honorable in its own way, but bound to become an issue in the future if he didn’t get them in line sooner than later. The theft was already an issue.

“Now, I know you’re all raiders and theft is in your nature. So I don’t give a shit who or what you take from anyone who stumbles in or from around the Commonwealth.” He stood up straight, shoulders back and flashing a grin.“Hit the local farms. Intercept caravans. Terrorize the natives. Have fun!” In a flash the grin was gone and his brows furrowed, the blazing red color on his face only appearing as he screamed at the top of his lungs. “But do not ever, _ever_ steal from me!”

Royce cleared his throat, a vain attempt at soothing it after such a strain, yet he continued on. “Stealing from the parks is stealing from me. It’s stealing from all of you.” Some of the raiders in the stands started getting rowdier, sitting at the edges of their seats, their chatter more audible and much of it directed at their rivals.

“You Disciples are fucking backstabbing scumbags!”

“It’s the Operators who have the hard-on for caps. Why don’t you ask them?”

“Shut up!” Royce commanded, his grip on his captive’s shoulder tightening. He wanted to make this a spectacle, a memorable show that would drive the lesson home the first time, and yet he also had not wanted to linger on it any longer than necessary. As such, it was going on far too long and leaving the raiders restless.

He waved to his assistants and promptly was provided a chair in which to sit he rolled up both his sleeves and the Disciple’s. As he worked, a small cart with a small selection of tools was wheeled out and parked between his side and the audience. They could see some antiseptic, a rag, a length of rubber tubing, a large syringe, and two bottles of brilliantly luminescent Quantum Nuka Cola.

“This has been quite the evening, hasn’t it?” He made small talk with the Disciple. “I’m not sure I ever caught your name.”

“What’s it matter to you?” He spat.

“Well, much like spitting on your boss, it’s rude to not address someone by their name.”

“It’s Faust.”  
“Well read, are we?” Royce smirked but the way the raider’s eyes darted away in confusion left him at least mildly disappointed, a passing twinge of nostalgia. “Ah, I suppose it’s lost on you, then.”

Royce retrieved the rag, coating it in a thin layer of the antiseptic, and dabbing it into the crook of Faust’s elbow. Already the man’s breathing picked up, his chest rising and falling dramatically against the restraints.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“You see, I figured if you were willing to steal Nuka Cola from me and your fellow raiders,” Royce gestured about to the stands, “that you must really like the soda. A lot.”

“It’s crap.” He scowled as the rubber tubing was knotted tightly around his bicep.

“I’m inclined to agree. But you already stole it so the evidence is not exactly in your favor, is it?” He gave Faust a pat to the cheek before he opened one of the Quantums, tossing the cap with a flip toward Gage who caught it with a single hand. It was worth a small, brief applause and commendation.

“Besides,” Royce continued, “this is Quantum Nuka Cola. It’s, from what I’ve read on some of the material around the park, overabundant with calories, carbohydrates- sugar mostly, and caffeine. Caffeine can do a real number on the heart rate, you know.” With the syringe in one hand, he dipped the needle into the bottle, extruding the plunger to fill the body with the same glowing soft drink.

“You’re sick-”

“One thing, that might not be terribly well known about this particular variation, is that it is also irradiated.” The deluge of information was as much for Faust’s benefit as it was the onlookers’. “And I don’t mean radiation has gotten into it. I mean they quite literally pumped this crap full of radiation before putting it on store shelves. It even makes your piss glow! But you’ll be dead long before it can even make you feel sick.”

“Stop!” The plea came as Royce held up the syringe, a pause in his actions as the two made eye contact.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please.” Faust visibly cringed.

“Louder, so that everyone can hear you and there’s no mistake what you’ve said.”

“Please!” It was desperate now and if he made it out of this, there was little doubt in Royce’s mind that Nisha would put the Disciple out of his misery for having conceded.

“Look at that! You can follow directions! It’s a shame that it’s a skill you’ve developed too late. This is probably going to burn like a bitch and you’ll absolutely be in pain until your whole body goes into shock.” Royce grasped Faust’s arm tightly and took aim, plunging the entire dose of soda into Faust’s veins in a single go.

The screams echoed through the theater and lingered in Royce’s tired mind as he spent the remainder of the night watching the park from Fizztop Grille. Below he could faintly make out the occasional Disciples talking among themselves in a spattering of fire light.

He needed power sooner than later.


End file.
